


Glock 19

by eigengrau



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Gunplay, Kink Meme, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eigengrau/pseuds/eigengrau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal has never been one for guns- he prefers the knife, the sharp elegance of a clean red cut- but he can see, too, the appeal in this heavy weapon; in the weighty balance of total, obliterating destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glock 19

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme prompt: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=559967#cmt559967

The Glock 19 is dark and utilitarian, a policeman's gun. It is warm in Hannibal's grip, and as the short barrel slides in between Will's lips, muffling the whimper that tries to escape, he wishes for something more elegant. Hannibal has never been one for guns- he prefers the knife, the sharp elegance of a clean red cut- but he can see, too, the appeal in this heavy weapon; in the weighty balance of total, obliterating destruction. It's too sloppy for his own tastes, but he can understand why Will wants this. Why Will  _needs_  this. And so he stays silent and twists the gun experimentally, watching the swell of Will's tongue in his cheek as he gags and jerks forward, desperate for more. The barrel is too short to reach the back of his throat and the piece of metal that protects Hannibal's finger on the trigger presses into his lip, hard, leaving the pink flesh a bloodless white.  
  
It must hurt terribly. Will's eyes flutter under long lashes as his cheeks hollow and he begins to suck.  
  
The gun is Will's, held out in a trembling hand as Will had offered it to him, begging disguised as asking. His eyes had been full of shame and fear, staring anywhere but Hannibal's face, and when Hannibal had taken the gun from him and pressed the barrel into the hollow underneath Will's ribs while he kissed him, they had closed and opened again shining and blue.  
  
From where Hannibal stands, towering above the man on his haunches on the hardwood floor, he has the perfect view of Will. He can see the brown mess of tangled curls that falls over Will's forehead, the pink flush on the bridge of his nose, the stretched out "O" of his tortured lips. The bites and bruises from earlier stand out against the paleness of his bare shoulders, the marks that Hannibal had sucked into his skin livid red and blue. His cock is hard and red between his thighs. With the hand that isn't holding the gun Hannibal reaches down to wrap his fingers around Will's neck. He can feel the younger man's throat working under his palm as he swallows, breathing hard through his nose. When Hannibal tightens his grip, Will's cock twitches.  
  
He's beautiful like this, hard and desperate, perfectly submissive. The hands that Hannibal had told him to keep on the floor splay out on the wood, far away from his aching body. Hannibal ordered him not to touch himself, not to move unless specifically told to do so. And Will has listened, staying still save for his arms and shoulders, quaking with the strain of holding himself back. He is so sweet, so well-behaved. Hannibal pushes the gun further into the gaping hole of Will's mouth one more time, scraping the tip against the very back of his tongue and reveling in the gag Will fights to restrain before drawing it out. The slick metal catches on Will's teeth, dripping with the spit that glistens on his chin and aching red mouth. He follows it like a dog being parted from a bone. Hannibal has a sudden mental image of Will with a collar around that delicate throat of his, being led around on a literal leash instead of the invisible one that Hannibal has wrapped around his own wrist.   
  
"Good boy," he says, wiping the gun dry on a soft towel. Will whines softly, rocking a little, desperate for any sort of touch. His cock bobs in the cool air and he jolts as if electrified when Hannibal lifts his chin with two fingers, gently raising him to stand on wobbly legs. His knees are patterned with red and white streaks where the floor bit into his skin. Hannibal smiles, and presses the gun against Will's thin sternum. Even warmed from his hand the metal is cool, and Will jerks forward, folding in on himself with a gasp.   
  
"What do you say?" Hannibal drags the gun in a line from Will's collarbone to the jut of his hips, pausing to skim just this side of too-hard over a sensitive nipple. Will lets out a sob.  
  
"Please," he whispers. Hannibal grins, teeth showing white and dangerous in the low light.  
  
"Louder."  
  
" _Please_." Will's voice is hoarse, rough and wrecked, and it cracks before he falls pantingly silent. It must be excruciating for him to speak above a murmur. Hannibal hums with pleasure and pushes Will back down to the floor. His thin bony spine hits the ground and he cries out in a mix of pleasure/pain, beautiful blue eyes leaking tears. Hannibal settles between his spread legs and pushes them apart even further. The gun glints blackly as he lowers it, and when he brushes the front sight of the Glock over the head of Will's cock, catching a gleaming bead of pre-cum, the back of Will's head bumps against the floor with a thud and he arches like an animal.  
  
Hannibal strokes him with the metal, caressing his cock slowly, carefully. The muscles in Will's thighs bunch and quake and he bites down on his fist so hard that when he releases his jaw to let out a sob his teeth come away streaked with blood. The sight makes Hannibal lose his breath for a second. Will-  _his_  Will, always has been, even if he hadn't known at first- wants. He needs. He  _feels_  so exquisitely.   
  
Hannibal takes the gun away from Will's cock and reaches for the lube.  
  
He is wet and open from earlier, but Hannibal slicks the barrel carefully and well. As much as he wishes to cause Will pain, he has no desire to see him come to irreversible physical harm. Not tonight, anyway. He hoists Will's right leg over his shoulder and presses the gun to his hole, teasing at the slick skin. Will, too exhausted to support his own weight, moves back against the feel of the metal, gasping brokenly, a litany of hoarse "please" -es torn from his lips. His cock smears shining pre-come against the plane of his stomach as Hannibal stretches him, carefully pushing the gun inside.   
  
Hannibal flicks off the safety, and Will comes, hard, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, desperate for air that can't quite find its way to his lungs. His chest heaves as his cock twitches with the aftershocks of his orgasm, his toes clenching and unclenching, eyes staring blindly as tears wet his cheeks.  
  
The gun that helped to kill Garret Jacob Hobbs slides out of Will with little resistance, yet again an accessory to his best hidden, most-denied pleasures. Hannibal wipes it down and lays it on the table. He leaves Will shivering on the floor and returns a moment later with a warm wet washcloth. He bathes Will like one would prepare a corpse for burial in ancient days, wiping the fluid- the lube, the sweat, the come, the spit, the blood- from his pale skin. Will's limbs are limp and he is heavy, head lolling against Hannibal's chest when he picks him up. He carries him to the bed as if he weighs no more than a bundle of sticks and wraps him in soft warm blankets. When he sits down beside him, Will shifts to be closer to the space where his weight dips the mattress.  
  
Hannibal brushes the curls from Will's forehead and kisses him deeply. Will's lip is split from his own teeth and Hannibal can taste the iron-salt tang of blood. Will smells like sex and cheap astringent soap and gunmetal.  
  
Though Hannibal prefers knives, as a rule, there is a certain satisfaction in the ruination that a gun can provide.


End file.
